Take Me (To Your Leader)
by Destined To Repeat
Summary: Kirk/Spock College AU. Written for the prompt: ok so like imagine an alien landing and doing the whole "take me to your leader" spiel, and you're just like "aight" bc aliens are cool af, but the problem is the president is on the completely other side of the country, so you have to go on a cross country road trip with said alien.


Written for this prompt here, sxizzor. tumblr post/138898751249/runawaysandtidalwaves-ok-so-like-imagine-an, because _obviously_ this is Kirk and Spock.

* * *

The training Spock had undergone in preparation for this mission had been both rigorous and extensive, covering every aspect of their targets' cultural and political norms, plotting out every outcome, accounting for every possibility. After years of surveillance and careful strategizing, it was not merely probable but downright inevitable that the Vulcan takeover of Terra would be conducted to its superlative success, and with the utmost efficiency.

And yet Spock was unprepared for the Human upon whose door he had knocked to stick his head out, bleary-eyed and tangle-haired, and mutter, "Can't this wait until _after_ six AM?"

And then his gaze lands upon Spock's phaser pointed at him, then back up to his face, to his ears, and something between understanding and delight dawns in the Human's eyes.

The Human's eyes, which are wide and bright and a shade of blue Spock had not known existed, let alone on a living being. He finds himself momentarily unable to speak, simultaneously fascinated and unsettled by the

Finally he manages, "You will escort me to the leader of your country immediately."

The Human blinks. He has dark golden eyelashes, unlike any Vulcan—any person—Spock has ever seen. He cannot look away.

"Wait," says the Human slowly, "you're taking over the world?"

"Yes," says Spock. "After a thorough examination of Terra's projected future, the inhabitants of Vulcan have determined it necessary to overhaul its malfunctioning leadership in order to save the Human race from destroying itself."

"Makes sense," says the Human, nodding.

The training Spock had undergone in preparation for this mission had been both rigorous and extensive, covering every aspect of their targets' cultural and political norms, plotting out every outcome, accounting for every possibility.

And yet suddenly he feels entirely ill-equipped for this assignment and the completely illogical Human with which he is to complete it.

"Here, come on in," he says, opening the door further to allow the Vulcan entry. "Sorry it's a flying wreck in here."

Spock steps in and finds nothing at all flying inside the small apartment, though it is remarkably cluttered. Still, that is the least confusing part of the interation thus far. "You are…amenable to the Vulcan takeover?"

"Hell yeah!" The aberrantly-blue-eyed Human stops. "Wait. Are you planning on killing anyone?"

"Negative," says Spock. "The Vulcan race is a primarily pacifistic one. We merely intend to overthrow the current defective administration and replace it with a more adequately trained government of our own."

"Sounds good to me!"

That gives the Vulcan pause. "I had not realized that Humans maintained such antipathy for their own governance."

His hostage shrugs. "Everyone hates President Trump. He's sexist, and racist, _and_ incompetent."

Spock tilts his head. "Was he not elected democratically?"

The Human flaps a hand at him. "That was a fluke." While Spock tries to figure out what that means, the boy continues with a flourishy bow. "It would be my honor to take part in abolishing the oppressive, ineffectual system." He looks up. "Oh, hey, I haven't even introduced myself yet. I'm Jim."

This so-called Jim holds out his hand. Spock stares at it.

"What do you want in return?" he asks, eyes narrowed.

"Nothing!" says Jim, then lowers his voice conspiratorially. "Here's the part where you shake my hand and tell me your name."

"My name is Spock," says Spock. He stares at Jim's hand until the Human finally drops it back to his side. "What do you want in return for your compliance as my Human hostage?"

"The privilege of punching President Trump in the face?" Jim suggests.

"Humans' affiliations to their leaders is quite… enigmatic," Spock murmurs.

Jim grins. "You can say that again."

"What purpose would a meaningless repetition serve?" Spock asks, bewildered.

"Never mind," says Jim, his eyes bright with amusement. "Anyway, the problem is you've landed in Los Angeles. We can't exactly just walk over to the White House."

"No?"

"Nah, man, D.C.'s like forty hours away. Theoretically it'd be a lot shorter to fly—an airplane, not a rocket ship, though it'd be _way_ shorter if we had a rocket ship—but it's vacation season and I don't have that kind of cash."

"Forty hours?" Spock asks, calculating this impediment in to his mission plan. He had been explicitly ordered to use the first Human he found as his hostage and Terran-native escort, but he only had a week… "How long will it take to traverse to distance from here to your leader's headquarters?"

The blue-eyed Human bites his lip contemplatively. "I dunno... Three, four days? Maybe Waze can find us a shortcut." He goes to his bedside table and reaches for something slim and metallic and roughly the size of a Human hand.

A communication device.

Before Jim can pick it up, Spock lifts his phaser and shoots the communicator to smithereens.

"My phone!" he cries.

"My orders are to destroy any communication devices of the hostage, so that the mission may not be compromised."

"My _phone_!"

Spock hesitates. There is what sounds like true distress in his voice.

"You can't _do_ that!" Jim says, still cradling the remains of his communication device "Destroying a Human's phone is like…is like killing his child!"

Alarm shoots through him, followed by burning guilt. "I…I was not told…"

Apparently Jim sees something in his expression, because his eyes soften. "Oh, Spock, no… I was exaggerating. I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm not overjoyed. But it's not like you killed my _child_. It was just a joke."

A joke… Spock supposes he should be relieved. Instead he feels oddly betrayed. "According to Human culture, jokes are intended to be humorous. That was not humorous."

"Sorry," says Jim, smiling in apology. "I didn't mean to scare you."

"You did not scare me," says Spock, stiff. "Fear is a Human emotion. I do not experience fear."

"Right." Jim walks across the room and puts the remains of his communication device on the desk, giving it one last sorrowful look (Spock feels a pang of regret that he immediately rejects) before turning back to Spock. "No big deal. I have a map in the car—we'll just do it the old-fashioned way." A furrow appears between his eyebrows and he glances back at his phone. "Shoot, Bones is gonna flip."

"Bones?" Spock echoes.

"My roommate," Jim explains. He walks over to the small bathroom and picks up what Spock recognizes as a toothbrush. "He's a med student here—that's why I call him, you know, _Bones_ … Well, anyway, right now he's visiting Jojo and the Demon Lady for spring break, but he calls every night without fail 'cause he's paranoid like that and gets kind of crazy when I don't answer. So if he thinks I've been kidnapped and calls the cops, I'm blaming you."

Spock mulls over this new information while Kirk finishes brushing his teeth, finally realizing what he had sensed as unusual since surveying the student's apartment.

"Is it not customary for Humans to visit their families during Terran holidays?"

"Yeah," says Jim, looking elsewhere. "It is."

There is a long moment of silence.

"So I'd been wondering what I was gonna do for spring break," says Jim cheerfully, as if Spock's question had never happened. "It's been kind of lonely around here."

And then without so much as a warning he pulls his shirt off over his head.

"If you continue this behavior…" says Spock, heat rising in his cheeks despite his best efforts. He does not know how to end the sentence.

"Mhmm," says the Human, smiling. "What can you deduce about how I feel about you seeing me naked?"

Spock stares at him, uncomprehending, and then abruptly turns away. His face is burning. It is an utterly unfamiliar sensation.

"Oh well," comes Jim's voice from behind him. "This view's nice too."

Spock frowns, confused, but stays silent. To Spock's perspective, there is no view from this angle at all.

"I'm decent," says Jim a moment later. "You can look."

He turns back to find Kirk scrubbing his fingers through hair in what appears to be some counterintuitive type of grooming in which one works to dishevel his appearance rather than tidy it.

"You mentioned that you were currently undergoing advanced study in your field," Spock says, if only to distract himself from the Human's mussed hair and disquieting eyes. "To which field of study were you referring?"

"Oh," says Kirk, lacing his shoes. "Astrophysics. And, uh, English Lit minor. But I usually don't share that with the STEM guys."

 _Astrophysics,_ Spock notes with surprise. And literature as well. He must be at least minimally intelligent, then. Good. A semblance of intelligence would likely be a useful trait in his hostage/chauffeur over the course of the mission.

"I always wanted to be an astronaut," Jim remarks, pulling a suitcase out from under his bed. He looks over his shoulder to grin at Spock. "Crazy, huh?" He pauses. "Then again, I'm talking to an alien. So."

Spock tilts his head. "Interacting with a member of an alien species is considered a sign of insanity to most Humans?"

"Well, pretty much no one believes in them," says Jim like this should be obvious, as he stuffs four t-shirts haphazardly into the suitcase. "There hasn't even been a single famous reported sighting or abduction since…" He trails off, considering. "Well, since before I was born. There was a big story about the disappearance of this girl, I know her name, it's, ah…. " He snaps his fingers a few times (perhaps a Human memory aide?). "A… Ahh… Something with an A… I want to say Amanda…?"

"Grayson," Spock finishes. It's almost as if the name has exited his mouth of its own accord.

Jim has stopped packing and is looking at him strangely. His expression is—Spock flips through his mental catalogue and comes upon—interest. Curiosity.

Still no fear.

"You know her?" Jim asks, his voice rising eagerly. "That abduction was _real_?"

"She was not _abducted,"_ Spock snaps before he can stop himself. He had not been prepared to hear the same biting words here as he endured so often on Vulcan. "Her extraction was conducted with fully informed consent."

For the briefest of moments, a speculative, almost _piercing_ look flashes across Jim's face, but he doesn't ask any further.

Thankfully he breaks the eye contact a moment later and turns back to his packing. "Sorry, I've just been talking about myself all this time! What about you?"

"Me?"

"Well you've told me a bit about your mission, but you haven't really told me anything about yourself. Do you like it back home?"

"Enjoyment is a Human emotion. Vulcans do not experience enjoyment."

Jim smiles. "Yeah, okay, but you must be pretty high up in the ranks to be on a mission like this."

"Yes," he admits.

"And out of every Vulcan in existence, _you_ were the one chosen to come to Earth. You must be some kind of genius."

"Yes, I am," says Spock.

Jim grins. "That's hot."

The Vulcan frowns, recalling his extensive training in the Terran languages; specifically their illogical affinity for words for multiple meanings. "Hot in terms of temperature or hot in terms of sexual attractiveness?"

Jim laughs, and this too is something Spock has learned about, but for the first time he finds his training quite inadequate. Seeing it is so drastically different from learning about it—he had not expected the Human's laughter to be so bright and open and…pleasing. "Sexual attractiveness."

While it is a more coherent usage than the other translation of the word would have been in the given context, Spock cannot say that the admission – so forthright, even _gleeful_ – does not take him by surprise.

"Humans are sexually attracted to intelligence?" he wonders. For purely scientific motivations. Of course.

"Not all Humans."

" _You_ are," he clarifies.

"Yep." Jim smirks. "'Course, that's not _all_ I'm attracted to."

Spock mulls over this new information. "Then you are physically attracted to me," he deduces.

"Yep," says Jim again, seeming pleased by Spock's logical and accurate inference.

There's a pause.

"Do you intend to follow through on that physical attraction?" Spock asks at last, not entirely certain which response he desires.

Spock had been led to believe that Humans are lower on the food chain than Vulcans, but the smile that spreads across Jim's face is nothing short of predatory. "I dunno," he says, his voice low and rough, sending a strange ripple along Spock's epidermal nerves. "Do I?"

The Vulcan watches the Human, waiting for him to continue.

A moment passes. No elaboration appears to be forthcoming.

"I do not understand your answer," says Spock.

Jim bites down on his lower lip as if he is trying not to smile. "Okay, we'll take this slow. Focus on the road trip for now… deal with the other stuff later. Sound good?"

Finally finishing his preparations, they leave the apartment, Spock keeping his phaser trained on Jim as he was ordered, but the Human hardly seems to notice. He simply rolls his suitcase out and unlocks his car, whistling and perfectly relaxed, as if he's planning something. Or as if he _trusts_ him.

Spock doesn't know which prospect is more frightening.

The Human packs his suitcase and slams the trunk shut, then goes back around to the driver's seat. By the time Spock has gotten in and closed the passenger side door, Jim has already turned on some kind of strange, musically guttural Terran song.

"Is this… aurally agreeable to Humans?" Spock has to ask. Jim turns on the car and pulls away from the dorm building.

"This? Yeah, it's been on the radio for months. Funk-y music's been back in for a while now."

"Fun…ky?" Spock repeats tentatively. "What is that?"

"Well, in this case it means the song is similar to funk. Which is a music genre."

"I see."

"But _funky_ is its own word too. It really depends on the context. Like 'play that funky music' means that the music's really good."

"Fascinating," says Spock, filing the information away for future reference. Perhaps he will assimilate this new Human term into his vernacular in order to more effectively intermingle with the planet's natives. For instance, if he is called upon to exhibit concern, saying, "It is funky that you have remained in adequate health" and the like would allow him to remain completely undetected.

"Or," Jim continues, gesturing with one hand while the other remains on the circular steering device, "if something's weird but you're not sure what, exactly, you might say it feels funky. In that case it means pretty much the same as _weird_. Or if your food's gone rotten, you might say it tastes funky. Which means _bad_."

Spock looks at him, profoundly confused.

"You'll get used to it," says Jim, waving that away. "Speaking of which, we should pick up food before we get on the highway. Any preferences?"

"I will require an all-vegetarian diet."

"All right. There's a great vegetarian pizza place just around the corner."

"What is 'pizza'?"

Jim's eyes widen. "Oh my God. You've never eaten pizza? Well, of course you haven't, you're an alien. Oh my _God_."

Judging by the multiple exclamations of the Human deity, it is logical to assume "This… 'pizza' is a Terran religious practice?"

Jim laughs again, prompting a strange response in Spock, strangely similar to pride. "You could say that!"

Spock has to hold on to the car door as Jim makes an abrupt right turn, chattering all the while about the numerous Human food without which 'life's just not worth _living_ , Spock!', raising his voice over the hammering music.

And perhaps it is the air gusting in from the lowered windows, or perhaps it is the exceptionally loud Terran music, or perhaps it is the attractive, unnaturally-blue-eyed Human enthusiastically and tunelessly singing along, but Spock has the strangest impression that he is the one who has been abducted, rather than the other way around.


End file.
